


more strength than i have

by gotham_ruaidh



Series: Gotham Writes for Imagine Claire & Jamie [24]
Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-15
Updated: 2016-01-15
Packaged: 2018-05-14 00:50:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5723335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gotham_ruaidh/pseuds/gotham_ruaidh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Claire had tried to off herself after all when she thought Jamie was dead in MOBY. Perhaps, Lord John, William or Dr. Hunter interceded? Imagine the reunion and conversation about this between Claire and Jamie beside the river bank. // Imagine what Lord John told Jamie about how Claire handled the news of his death in MOBY</p>
            </blockquote>





	more strength than i have

**Author's Note:**

> This was a prompt sent in to [Imagine Claire & Jamie](http://imagineclaireandjamie.tumblr.com/post/137289774799/what-if-claire-had-tried-to-off-herself-after-all) on tumblr. I'm posting my Imagine prompts here on AO3 for easier reading and in case there's anyone here who might not be on tumblr. Do feel free to check out the blog and send in prompts if you have more ideas for our favorite pair!

Jamie grasped Claire’s loosening fingers, curled in the hollow of his chest, brought her hands to his lips, and carefully kissed the inside of her wrist.

Nestled on the lumpy mattress in the loft of Fergus’ printshop, bodies cocooned by quilts and each other, tonight had been their first real chance to take their time in reconnecting. That mad, frenzied coupling in the gardening shed had reforged their physical ties, but certainly not all of their emotional ones. Only in the past hours, as they’d held each other - savored each other - Claire’s face dampened with tears as she shared her grief and terror at believing him dead, and she clung to him desperately, anchoring him to her. 

So he’d held her, stroked her hair, whispered soothing words of love and devotion and protection, and then loved her so slowly and reverently that it had brought tears to his own eyes.

And yet she hadn’t told him everything - had still kept a secret from him. The fresh scar on her wrist - a thin, smooth, hairless line of soft, new flesh - was precisely where John had told him it would be. Where, driven nearly mad at the prospect of a life without him, she’d used one of her wee knives to open her veins and wait to join him. Had John not found her when he did - 

No. Jamie blinked back the thought. John, bless him, had - without any fuss - calmly revived her, and with the intervention of Denny Hunter had bandaged her up and kept vigil at her bedside until she was healed. Upon which he promptly married her and - 

Jamie threaded his fingers through Claire’s, marveling at the artistry of her skin and joints and nails and tendons. Every part of her was so precious to him. How could she so willingly destroy herself?

She languidly shifted against him and kissed his shoulder. “I can hear you thinking,” she whispered, breath hot against his skin.

He turned to face her in the dim light, released  her hand, eased her leg over his hip, and slowly, slowly entered her. Her back arched in pleasure. Her mouth sought his, and her hips gently pushed against him. But he held still.

“Jamie?”

He swallowed. “When were ye going to tell me that ye’d tried to kill yerself?”

She tried to roll away, but he wrapped his legs around her hips, locking them together.

“Jamie - ”

“Why? Why, Claire? I’m no’ mad about it, but we promised honesty to each other. Why did ye no’ tell me about it?”

She lowered her head in shame - but he gently lay one big hand at her nape and drew her face up to meet his, nose to nose. She breathed, and he waited.

“There’s no life without you.” Her voice was small, defeated. Not the voice of the headstrong, fiery woman he loved - but rather, he realized, the shell she must have become during those long, agonizing months they had been apart.

“What of Ian, then? Fergus? Marsali and the bairns? And our lass and her family? Did ye no’ think of them?”

She sighed. “I’ve lived before, thinking you dead. I wouldn’t - couldn’t - do that again.”

He kissed the tip of her nose. “But I wasna dead, that time. And no’ this time, either. And did I no tell ye once that I can wait for ye, if I die? There are so many people who need ye here, Claire - who love ye. Ye canna take yerself away from them.”

Fresh tears trailed down her cheeks - and he kissed them away.“I know. You’re right, of course. Jamie - it was all gray. Nothing seemed to matter anymore. It was - ”

She hiccuped a sob and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Gently, patiently, he stroked her back. “Was like what?”

Claire inhaled deeply, and he felt her ribs shudder again. “It was like the time I was with Louise, at Fountainebleu - after we lost Faith.”

Suddenly all the air left Jamie’s lungs, and he felt an urgent desire to crawl inside of Claire, to hold her heart between his hands and scoop all the pain and loss and heartbreak right out of her body.

“Oh, Claire,” he breathed and, finding her lips, kissed her for a very long time.

Then they loved and cherished and comforted each other for what could have been minutes or hours. And when Claire finally pulled away from his lips and straddled him, she threw away the quilts and rolled her hips against his - claiming him, proving that they were both still alive, re-forging their connection.

And later, in the darkness of the loft that was so much like the confessional Jamie had visited many a time during his studies in Paris, they finally settled in for sleep.

“I’m sorry, Jamie. So sorry.”

“Never again, Claire. No secrets.”

“No secrets. I can’t live without you.”

He tucked the quilt over her shoulders, now that their bodies had cooled. “I canna live wi'out ye, either. But dinna do that to me again. All right?”

He traced the beautiful curve of her cheek, still flushed. She kissed his thumb. “All right.”

He hummed in contentment - and then gasped as her hand grasped him beneath the quilt.

“What are ye doing?” he hissed. “Ye must be exhausted.”

“Well, clearly you’re not,” she replied tartly, a smile finally touching her lips. “Have I ever told you about the term ‘hat trick’?”


End file.
